So Mary was angry this time; angry in earnest, and Jane felt the
irritable palm more than once. I, too, came in for my share of her ill
temper, as most certainly would Brandon, had he allowed himself to
come within reach of her tongue, which he was careful not to do. An
angry porcupine would have been pleasant company compared with Mary
during this time. There was no living with her in peace. Even the king
fought shy of her, and the queen was almost afraid to speak. Probably
so much general disturbance was never before or since collected within
one small body as in that young Tartar-Venus, Mary. She did not tell
Jane the cause of her vexation, but only said she "verily hated
Brandon," and that, of course, was the key to the whole situation.
After a fortnight, this ill-humor began to soften in the glowing
warmth of her heart, which was striving to reassert itself, and the
desire to see Brandon began to get the better of her sense of injury.
Brandon, tired of this everlasting watchfulness to keep himself out of
temptation, and, dreading at any moment that lapse from strength which
is apt to come to the strongest of us, had resolved to quit his place
at court and go to New Spain at once.
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